Joyride
by TheAlchemist'sDaughter
Summary: Car!Bee/Sam - Bee drives Sam out to the hills determined to advance their relationship - dark - Twoshot
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I wrote this, originally as a one-shot, as a forfeit when I lost a bet to my good old friend, AmberSpirit. I wrote the second chapter in preparation for a future bet I would lose (as in, she already knew what she wanted when I next lost, so I wrote it in preparation) and then I didn't want to wait for her reaction after I'd finished, so I sent it to her, and then she said I should post it, so here we go. Oh, and she gets the credit for the title.

Chapter 1

Samuel Witwicky bounced down the steps of his college and out into the blazing California sun. Other students milled around the quad as he walked briskly towards the student car park, chattering and laughing, or sitting on the lush grass. Class was over for the day, and Sam had no plans or any pressing work hanging over his head, so there was only one place he wanted to be.

He turned onto the tarmac, not even noticing the walk there, and smiled as he spotted a yellow Camaro – _his_ yellow Camaro – unique in a row of bland, cheap student vehicles. Obviously, Bumblebee didn't react, didn't suddenly spring up into his autobot form to greet him, or even do as much as wink a headlight, but Sam knew the bot knew he was there. He grinned properly as he came close to the car.

"Hey, Bee? How've you been? Miss me?" he said, running his hand over the flashy car, his pride and joy, with its stylish yellow paint job and black racing stripes.

College life, with its work and rigorous social schedule, meant that he wasn't available to spend as much time as he once had with his alien friend, nor did he have much cause to, when everything he needed was walking distance on campus. Sam felt bad, knowing that Bee was sitting out on the hot tarmac every day, guarding him even though it had been pretty quiet on the Decepticon front for a while. He knew it must be crushingly dull for the warrior to pretend to be an inanimate object, without even Sam to keep him company, but he did it, and the boy wanted to make it up to him with a good drive.

Sam opened the door – unlocked, as Bumblebee had much better defences to deter thieves - and settled excitedly into the driver's seat. The radio came to life without him touching it, whirring and screeching as Bee scanned through static quickly to greet him. The window wipers also came on with a jerk, and Sam laughed as he thought of a dog wagging its tail.

He leant forward and stroked the dashboard indulgently. "Yeah, me too. Let's get out of here, huh? Go somewhere? You can drive, go nuts. You must be feeling pretty pent up by now," said the boy, smiling.

The engine roared to life, revving powerfully, vibrating the leather seat, and Sam felt that old familiar rush of having the _coolest_ car of anyone, anywhere, ever. Bee had been with him for little over a year, but he never got used to the sheer _thrill_ of the sentient muscle car tearing down dark and twisting roads in the hills at insane speeds, feeling completely safe, just laughing in amazement, his hands not even on the wheel, as the road whipped past. He trusted the bot to be able to handle anything, he would never allow him to be hurt.

"Let's go," he whispered reverently, waiting for that incredible moment when the car would move without any direction from him. He knew that, ultimately, he had no control over Bumblebee, that if the car wanted to go it wouldn't matter how hard he stomped on the brakes, but he also knew that their strong relationship meant the car would always listen to him, and it wouldn't have moved until he had said.

Bumblebee reversed out of the parking space, driving out of the college grounds slowly and carefully, paying attention to traffic laws even though they both knew he didn't have to. The car just didn't want Sam to get in trouble for reckless driving. He was always thinking of his ward.

Bee headed for the hills, the relatively deserted area outside the city with twisting roads high enough up that you got wonderful views of the town below. Avoiding the main roads so that they wouldn't hit traffic and could keep moving, the car drove through residential streets, and Sam watched as pretty houses with kids in front yards slid by. It made him kind of homesick, but he just gripped the steering wheel tighter for a moment, and smiled at the autobot. He still had Bee.

Eventually they reached the road out of town, where it went uphill suddenly to get to the top. Sam noticed Bee was still going relatively slowly, being careful and restrained for some reason.

"Come on, don't you want to go faster than this?" Sam teased, wanting that adrenaline rush for himself as well. The autobot sped up obligingly, but Sam could still hear the tension in his engine, the car was still holding back.

"Bee, what gives? Is something wrong?" Sam asked, suddenly concerned.

The radio crackled and a song came on, the only way for the autobot to communicate with the boy until the other transformers found a way to fix his voice box. "_Ooh, to him I'll always be a motor car, my body the car._"

"Oh, Bee! You know you're way more than a car to me, come on!" the boy professed, upset that his friend would think that he thought so little of him.

"_Take the car - you gotta feel, To the mountain - to make it real_," replied the autobot, speeding up as they approached the summit of the hill, and a deserted lay-by that Sam had taken Mikaela to a couple of times before. He guessed the car must have remembered the spot. Sam didn't understand exactly what he meant by the last set of lyrics, and he didn't reply.

Well, he hadn't got the rush he'd been looking for. Bee seemed to be being extra careful of him today, which was strange. Usually after a couple of days of sitting on the lot, when Sam let him off the leash, Bee was ready to go wild.

They pulled into the lay-by and Sam sighed as he looked out of the window on his left to the sparkling lights of the city. The days were getting short now, and the sun was half-way set, with night settling in. The boy sat in silence for a while, just breathing in the familiar scent of the alien car.

He thought again about what the autobot had said, about how he felt he was just a car to him. Sam sighed and laid his hand on the dashboard again.

"I'm sorry I leave you out there in the car park for so long, Bee. You know you don't have to stay. Megatron hasn't done anything in a while, you could go hang out with Optimus and the others," he suggested. He wanted to find a way to improve his friend's life, he didn't want the bot to be unhappy because he had to spend all day protecting somebody that couldn't be with him.

There was a pause as the car seemed to think about this, then a child Michael Jackson and his brothers sang "_I'll be there to protect you, with an unselfish love that respects you, just call my name and I'll be there_."

Sam laughed. He didn't know about that love stuff, but he guessed Bee had to work with a limited supply of lyrics that didn't always fit exactly what he wanted to say. He appreciated the rest of though, he hadn't really wanted the bot to leave him.

"Thanks," he said, with a sad smile. He knew things were changing between them. His life was moving forward, and there was less and less room for a giant yellow alien robot. Sam looked back out of the window, getting lost in his thoughts. His hand slipped from the dash, skimming the steering wheel until it fell on the handbrake beside him. His fingers moved over the hard plastic absent-mindedly.

After several minutes of staring into space, Sam roused himself, shifting in his seat. "Ready to go, Bee?" he asked. They'd been there long enough, and they weren't really doing anything after all. Maybe the boy could talk the car into racing home, giving him the thrill he'd wanted.

But the engine stayed silent. "Bee?" Sam prompted again.

"_Standing by, waiting at your back door, all this time how could you not know? Baby-y-y, you belong with me-e-e_,"

Sam frowned. He couldn't figure out what the autobot meant by playing Taylor Swift.

"Huh? I don't understand," he said.

"_She's like so whatever, you could do so much better, I think we should get together now_."

Now it was Avril Lavigne. "Bee, are you feeling alright? Maybe we should go home, I can drive if you want," Sam tried again, but there was now a niggling voice in his head that pointed out the very similar themes of the two girls' songs. He tried putting his key in the ignition but it wouldn't turn, the autobot was blocking it. The locks on the door clicked down with a hollow, heavy thunk in the growing dark.

"_Please me, show me how it's done, tease me, you are the one_,"

Sam froze. He gave up trying to tell himself that he was misunderstanding, that it was some fault with the radio. He'd been able to ignore the loud and clear message in the songs, but the autobot had never, _never_ locked him in like this.

"Are you... Are you saying what I think you're saying?" the boy stuttered quietly, looking down at the steering wheel in front of him. He didn't know what he wanted the answer to be.

But the only reply he got was the seat suddenly shifting under him, reclining as far as it went. "Woah!" he cried as he lost his balance, falling back against the seat. He hurriedly sat up and scrambled over to the passenger side, knowing he did _not_ want to be in that chair, but the other one also popped backwards to accommodate him. Alarmed, he ended up between them, sitting on the middle backseat, his knees up to his chest in the small space.

"Bee, what're doing?" he said in a scared voice. "What's going on here?"

As an explanatory song played over the radio, Sam watched in confused horror as the seatbelts moved by themselves towards him.

"_Sleeping in my car, I will undress you, sleeping in my car, I will caress you, staying in the backseat of my car making love, oh yeah_."

Sam tried to dodge the seatbelts but the backseat pushed him forwards and he was boxed in by the two reclined front seats. The boy hadn't even known the autobot could move like that! He'd never seen him control separate parts of his car form before. And he couldn't fight them off, because as soon as he tried to push one of the belts away, it just looped around his wrist and zipped back, pulling his arm out straight, until he was tied and positioned in the centre of the vehicle.

"Bee? Bee! What are you doing?" the boy cried, and there was a tug on the belts. "Okay, okay! So... so you're saying... you have feelings for me?" Sam was trying to talk it out, buy some time to think up a way out of this.

The engine revved quietly in response to his question, and he swallowed. _Oh my god..._ "Okay, but how is that even possible? You're a giant robot from outer spa- Ow! Ow, okay, okay..." Sam looked from one wrist to the other, but the bot had him tight, and apparently, any kind of resistance got him a painful squeeze from the belts, the serrated fabric burning his skin.

"_Just put yourself in my hands and I'll ease your worried mind, just lie back, think of Texas and you'll be fine_," the car told him, and the backseat reclined slowly, something he knew wasn't normally possible, Sam could only imagine the insane game of Tetris that was going on in the autobots mechanics, and marvelled at the control the car had over itself.

"Bumblebee, this isn't the way to go about this! This isn't the way to get what you want. I mean, we can work this out... Maybe I have feelings for you too, huh? Do you really want to force this when we could do it differently, better?"

Sam knew he was lying, just bargaining and trying to convince the autobot to stop. He didn't feel bad about it when he knew what was at stake. He just didn't want to get raped by his car!

And the car did stop. It hesitated, and then, slowly, the bruising grip of the seatbelts on his wrists loosened. Breathing fast, Sam slid back into the driving seat.

"Let's go home, okay?" he said, reaching for the key and turning it, but again nothing happened. It seemed the car didn't want to go home. Sam ran his hands though his hair and pressed his lips together. What the hell was going on? How could the autobot have been harbouring these feelings for him? And how could he get out of this situation? There was no way – it wasn't physically _possible_ – for his car to have sex with him, but he didn't want to have to cut Bee out of his life! Plus, he didn't even know if he could, he'd seen the transformers rips through steel and concrete like paper, he didn't want to think about what one of them could do to him if it felt rejected.

But surely, surely Bee wouldn't _hurt_ him. Maybe if he made a break for it now, they'd be able to figure something out later. The seatbelt twitched impatiently, and as Sam's mind raced, he couldn't tell if running was a good idea or not. Suddenly, the metal clasps of the seatbelts were slipping under his waistband, presumably trying to get his pants off, or arouse him, or both.

"Ah-h, Bee... Bee, stop!" Sam cried, trying to dig the moving clasps out of his clothes. The engine revved menacingly in warning, and when one of the cold metal pieces managed to touch him _there_, the boy freaked. He popped the lock on the door and swung it open, only to have it come ramming back towards him, colliding painfully with his knee as he tried to get out. He was thrown back into the car with a yell and the engine roared at him, the radio coming on again, deafeningly loud.

"_Hey you, you think you can throw water on this fire? Liar, liar, liar, liar, liar_."

Sam knew he was in serious trouble now, he knew he couldn't beg or say anything that would dissuade the autobot. Bee clearly felt hurt and betrayed by his escape attempt, and determined to take what he wanted by force now.

Terrified, Sam was tossed and pushed and pulled roughly until he found his face smushed against the leather of the back middle seat, with his arms trapped behind the seats on either side of him that had come forward as he had tried to catch himself, swallowing his arms into the boot and pinning them in a vice grip.

"Bee! Come on, Bee, you don't have to do this!" he cried as the strangely hot metal of the seatbelt clasps once again dug around his waistband. One of them was wriggling under his belt in an awkward attempt to get it off, while the other was fumbling his crotch. Sam didn't know whether this was some finger-less endeavour to undo his fly, or whether the autobot was trying to awaken some desire in him. He tried to pull away but he had no room to manoeuvre in the position he was in.

After several minutes of this, the clasps' pawing grew more forceful, so that it hurt, and the engine revved in frustration. The belts pulled away.

"_I like your pants around your feet_," blasted from the radio, and then there was silence. Sam didn't move. The seats on either side of him pinning his arms moved forward an inch, and he felt blood gush back into his limbs. "_We have to take our clothes off, to have a good time, oh yeah_."

Sam understood. The autobot simply could not get the boy's trousers off. He couldn't work the buckle, the button or the zipper, or even grip the fabric to rip them. So he wanted Sam to do it himself.

His first thought was _as IF_ he was going to assist in his own rape.

"-_Hurt the ones you love_-"

But then his blood ran cold. Was Bumblebee seriously saying that if Sam didn't help him with this, that he would hurt his family? Obviously, he would never have believed that the autobot would hurt his family, but then he never would have believed that the yellow alien would try to rape him either. And he knew he couldn't afford to risk it.

Sam tried moving, and was amazed when his arms slid from the grip of the seats. He pushed himself up onto all fours and turned around, sitting properly. He stared at the dash, half expecting, or hoping, to see some familiar part of his friend's face, his eyes or mouth, something to orientate him, give him something to talk to, but just like before, it was just a car, with all the normal blinking coloured lights and no outward sign of sentience.

He still couldn't believe it. He had to ask.

"Bumblebee... Are you serious?" There was a rev from the engine that the boy took to be affirmative. "Why are you doing this?"

"_You drive me cra-a-azy – And all the time I think about sex with you – I love you_ – _Once I'm in I_ _own your heart_-" replied the car in broken lyrics taken from mismatched songs.

"But Bee... It's not possible for us... I mean, we don't... fit together... that way!" he complained, trying to reason with the alien, but his words were met with an angry roar from under the hood, and then the handbrake wagged up and down.

Sam just watched it move. This was surreal. This was like a comedy sketch written by horny pubescent boys. He couldn't believe it. On one level, it horrified him, but it was just too ridiculous an idea that _that_ would... It just wasn't sinking in.

One of the seatbelts reared up next to his face. "_We have to take our... clothes off_!" Bee reminded him.

"But-" He was cut off by another scream of the engine. "Okay! Okay..." The boy remembered the autobot's threat, and in the face of such open aggression from the machine, he didn't dare to disobey. With a sick sadness, he unbuckled his belt. It made a sour taste come to his mouth that his best friend should end up doing _this_ to him, that he would be violated and forced to assist...

In the limited space of the Camaro, Sam managed to pull of his jeans and underwear, kicking off his shoes. The motor purred in approval.

"Now what, genius?" he spat with the vehemence of a curse. Once again, the hand break wobbled, drawing attention to itself. "You can't be serious," Sam said.

At this small sign of resistance, the seatbelts once again whipped around his arms, pulling tight. Sam instinctively fought, which only meant that the belts gripped tighter and pulled him into the backseat.

"Wait! Wait!" he screamed futilely as he was forced onto his back. The front seats snapped down, slamming onto his knees and driving his feet down into the leg space on either side, holding them there. He continued to struggle, lifting his head to look when he heard a series of clunking sounds. The hand brake had rotated between his legs so that it was now facing him. Sam had never been so afraid of being impaled before in his life.

"Bee! Don't! You'll hurt me! You'll hurt me a lot!" he cried, twisting in his tangle of seatbelts. He put his head back to push against the seats, and his words turned into screams of agony as he felt the hand brake push against his entrance, forcing its way in. "You said you'd protect me!"

Miraculously, the plastic stopped trying to penetrate him. It didn't move away, but it was still. The only sound in the vehicle was the boy's laboured breathing.

"_I just wanna love ya, babay_," protested the autobot.

"Let me up..." said Sam, feeling exhausted. The shock of impending rape had drained him, he didn't have the energy left to fight it, he just wanted to get it over with. "Let me up, I have an idea." Understandably, the car did not readily let him go, since he had tried to escape the last time. Instead, the seatbelts tightened spasmodically, making the boy wince. "There's something in the glove box, something to make it better, hurt less..." Sam explained.

After a moment, the car relented, and released one hand, embracing his waist instead. Sam struggled up against his restraints and reached for the glove box, fishing out an old chap stick. Mikaela had dropped it in the car and Sam had kept forgetting to return it to her, and now he was glad he had, because it was the only kind of lubrication for miles. He wound the little petroleum stick up as far as it would go then snapped it off, dropping the plastic container on the floor carelessly. He crushed and rubbed it between his hands, melting it pretty quickly as his skin was hot. Then he reached down and smeared as much as he could of it on the hand brake. There wasn't much, but it was better than nothing, and it would have to do.

With a steadying breath, and a brief moment to tell himself that he couldn't believe he was going to do this, Sam positioned himself by the hand brake.

"Let me do this, okay?" he said, and the car rumbled its assent. Slowly, Sam forced himself to take in the hand brake. The angle was incredibly bad, with both of his legs pinned and only one arm to support himself, and even with the chap stick it still felt like sandpaper inside him, but he knew he had no choice. He could either be in control, and limit the pain to a minimum, or be the victim of a desperate robot. Once he was down as far as he could go, trying to breathe past the pain and already planning his trip to the hospital, he marvelled at the people who could enjoy this stuff. He supposed it was all about the mindset, and he forced himself to relax around the plastic, wriggling uncomfortably.

Apparently, the bot was convinced by his actions, because the boy was released from his restraints, and the two front seats now arranged themselves beneath him in such a way that he could half-lie and half-sit on them while leaving the space between his legs free. He eagerly relaxed onto them, letting them carry his weight, while the handbrake slowly pulled out.

Feeling something moving inside him was so strange, such a novel experience, that there was something... Well, there wasn't _just_ pain. He also couldn't ignore the fact that his best friend was inside him, fucking him, he'd never thought it would be possible. Sam tried to keep still, concentrating on staying relaxed to facilitate the car's movements, but every thrust inside moved further away from hurting him, and closer towards the other thing, the thing he didn't want to name.

He arched his back with a gasp, and hoped the car hadn't noticed, trying to distract him by speaking. "How do you even feel this anyway? That's a hand brake, not a – ngh,"

"_I got the magic stick_," replied 50 Cent from the radio.

One of the seatbelts began moving again, running over his skin as if it meant to caress him, and it was soon joined by the other. While one of them worked up under his shirt, the other wrapped gently around his crotch, squeezing and pulling in an ignorant attempt to arouse him. Sam looked away, not wanting to watch that, but it seemed that when he wasn't looking, he could _feel_ more, so he pushed the seatbelt away and replaced it with his own hand. He stroked himself in time with the thrusts of the handbrake, unsure of what he hoped to achieve. What was he even doing? Was he just making it better for himself, hoping to provide a natural end to this, or was he actually enjoying himself?

The boy slipped down in the seats a little, changing the angle of the lever inside him ever so slightly, and it now pushed into what he guessed must be his prostate. That felt good, but he didn't want to show it. He didn't want the autobot to think this was _okay_, that he would want to do it again. Sam hoped Bee hadn't noticed the sweat on his skin or the heaviness of his breath.

The car had started its engine, and when it purred particularly loudly, Sam could feel the handbrake vibrate, as intimate as he was with it. His eyes flew open and he pushed down onto the lever reflexively, giving a brief grunt. Pleased with the boy's reaction, Bumblebee revved hard, thrusting into his ward and making him cry out as the vibrations rattled against his prostate. Sam gripped himself harder and paid more attention to that part of him, pushing down and pulling up more vigorously, rubbing with his fingers and twisting a little.

The fabric of the seatbelts continued to roam over his skin, one of them rubbing up against his face, and the combined stimulation of his own hand and the rumbling thrusts of the car built up all at once and he came with a cry and a wave of self-disgust, coating his hand. He scrunched his eyes shut, and felt everything around him fall apart with a crash and a lot of whirs and clunks.

Suddenly, he felt cold, and he wasn't lying on smooth leather anymore, but dusty California dirt. He could also hear noise, the distant rush of the city and the wind in the hills. He opened his eyes, he was outside. Hovering above him, looking down at him, were two glowing blue optic spheres. Bumblebee was crouching over him in his autobot form, a massive metal arm on either side of where he lay.

"_Well is it good for you – Do you lo-ove me_?"

The abrupt, broken yell of Bee's radio shattered the quiet of the hills, making Sam wince where he lay. He looked up at the bot, which blinked back at him. He didn't see his best friend anymore, he just saw an alien, something incomprehensible and foreign, dangerous. He saw a machine, something that wasn't human, wasn't like him in any kind of way, that he felt no attachment or responsibility for. He hated the thing for what it had done, hated its stupid cheery yellow paint and deceptively innocent blue eyes. He hated it for what it had made him do. The beast had raped it and he'd enjoyed it. He hated it for making him hate himself.

Sam ignored the machine's question. You don't answer a car.


	2. Chapter 2

Bee/Sam 2

Samuel Witwicky was back in his old room, the room he'd grown up in. He'd come home after… what happened. The boy had told his parents it was homesickness, that he studied better at home anyway, away from the rowdy college student body. He'd said everyone was doing it, since the holidays were coming up, and that the faculty turned a blind eye as long as you had good grades, which he did… or had. His parents had allowed it for a few days but were clearly suspicious. It was something they never would have allowed him to do in high school, skive off for no good reason, especially when it involved driving across the state.

So he lied some more. He just needed a _break_, he said. College was more stressful than he'd been prepared for, and he was burning out. Then his mother conveniently remembered reading an article about the dangers of working too hard and the pressure facing young people today, and his dad had relented.

For a few days. But when it became clear he wasn't just staying for a long weekend, that he had entrenched himself in his room as if he never intended to leave, then his dad started pestering for a more satisfying excuse. Maybe he could see the change in his son, the shadows in his face, the nervous glances out of every window, his jumpiness. Sam never seemed to leave his room, he wasn't blowing off steam by going out and having fun, he wasn't recovering with the bountiful sleep and his mother's caring attention, cooking him three square meals a day and washing all his clothes. So his father became concerned.

He wasn't paying tens of thousands of dollars a year so that his son could run home and slack off whenever he got scared, that wasn't the adult behaviour he was hoping his son would be portraying by now. If they had been any other family, he simply would have put his foot down and send the boy back to deal with his problems. But they weren't just any other family. His son had a giant alien robot for a car, which frequently engaged in violent and destructive battle with other giant alien robots, often with the fate of the earth or the human race at stake. And that was what concerned him now.

As for Sam, when his dad asked in his indirect "still not comfortable with the living car thing" way if the trouble the boy was having wasn't Decepticon related, Sam didn't correct him. He didn't like the lie, he didn't like making his parents worry, but Sam knew it would keep them off his back for weeks, maybe months. And it wasn't so far off, was it? It _was _because of a transformer that he had come running home to bunker down in his old familiar room, after all. And the lie would allow him to be as openly neurotic as he liked, and he could pull the curtains back an inch to look at the yellow camaro sitting in his driveway as many times as he liked without raising suspicion.

And so it was, three weeks after the event, with his happy, safely exciting college life a distant memory, seeming more like a movie he had seen rather than his life, that Sam sat up in his room, trying to masturbate like a normal teenage boy. Only he couldn't do it like a normal teenage boy anymore.

The evening California sun shone through his window, its dazzle tempered by the large tree that had always stood in front of the house, its branches stretching over everything, shading his window on one side and the drive on another. It was a pleasant dark gold glow that diffused in his room, the room in which he had successfully gotten himself off many a time during his adolescence. But, not for the first time since his return, he had been trying for the past fifteen to twenty minutes without success.

He had his computer in front of him, muted porn playing on the screen. He had no idea what the scenario was supposed to be, and had totally ignored the actress' face in his frustration. He just watched large, hard-looking fake breasts jiggle as her carefully one-tone tanned body was vigorously humped by some equally faceless pizza delivery boy, or pool boy, or mechanic, or whatever the hell he was supposed to be.

"Come on, come on," he muttered as he ruthlessly beat his meat to no avail. He'd started with just pictures, photos of Mikaela, trying to be faithful even in his own fantasies, but when that hadn't worked, he'd escalated to this. However, his much-abused erection was still stubbornly holding out on him, refusing to finish the way it would have done by now if he was still _normal_.

With an angry exhalation that couldn't really be called a sigh, the boy let go of himself and clicked away from the video, searching the site for anything that looked hopeful. When he reached the bottom of the page without anything catching his eye, he saw a link to a different site catering to gay men, promising "Hot Man-on-Man XXX Action!". Unbidden, totally unrequested he insisted to himself, an image of swollen and rigid red flesh spearing the proffered ass of another man flashed in his mind, and his own backside tingled, and some tiny, smothered and ostracized part of himself thought in an inaudible whisper, "_Lucky_".

His face contorting into a snarl of repulsion and disgust, he quickly closed the window to remove the temptation and abate his anger. He regretted it though as his erection bobbed when he shifted in his seat. He opened a new window, and half-heartedly Google Image searched 'girls'. He sifted through the generic bikini-clad women, half of them soft-porn starlets, the other half MySpace hopefuls, until one looked worth a shot. It was a tall blonde in a red bikini posing in front of a sports car, half bent over and gazing sultrily into the camera. It was the kind of image you'd find on a calendar hung up in the back room of a garage. Sam put his hand back to his groin almost wearily and restarted the quick up and down massage.

He looked at her eyes but they were dead and soulless and sort of pitiful, and no one ever came over eyes, so he moved on to imagining what lay under the thin red scrap of bikini. He bet she was shaved or waxed or something under there, and that thought gave him an encouraging twinge in the general crotch area.

_Nice curves…_he thought. _They really catch the light, and that's a nice colour… The headlights are unusual but they work… I wonder what kind of horsepower - NO! Goddamn it!_

He slammed his hand down on his desk and stamped his feet on the ground as he caught himself thinking of the car instead of the girl _again_. _That _was the problem, _that _was what was always happening. That was why he wasn't normal anymore, what Bumblebee had done to him.

Sam rubbed his hands over his face knowing it was gross but figuring he'd be taking a shower later anyway, and groaned through gritted teeth.

No. No, he wasn't…Was there even a word for it? He could do this. He could get off to a human girl if he tried. He just have to find the _right _girl. Fuck, it was understandable if he was traumatised by what Bee had done up in the hills that night, that some wires had got crossed somewhere. He just needed time to heal, to reset, get back to default settings. Because that was what it was, he was _traumatised_, that was it.

He didn't _like _it.

That… That was not an option. He did _not _like cars, machines did _not _turn him on, and his idea of a good fuck was _not _a yellow autobot with black racing stripes.

Sam turned the monitor off and let himself fall onto his bed. After laying still for a moment, he returned to the problem of his erection. Latent thoughts of aerodynamic steel body plates and the purrs of smooth, tuned engines fresh off the line kept the little bastard alive, but the boy was forced to admit that if he kept ignoring everything but what had worked in the past, he'd end up rubbing himself raw over the next half hour until he gave up and drowned his arousal with an icy shower, which was not something he looked forward to.

So he let his hand find its way back to his stubborn flesh, and vowed to make a date with Mikaela real soon, before finally giving in to dirty thoughts about silicone parts fitted on an assembly line rather than in a plastic surgeon's office. He let his mind's eye wander over the dips and seamless swells of a flashy modern sports car, shapeless and neutral at first, but it soon morphed into a yellow camaro before Sam really noticed. The boy imagined his hand starting over the right headlight, then following the natural lines of the car round to the side, exploring every hollow. The fantasy played like a movie, with no direction from him, and he saw himself squatting beside the vehicle and slipping his fingers underneath to where the metal was rough and dirty. He ran his fingers along the exposed parts underneath, his touch feather-light, tickling, teasing the car.

"You like that?" he heard the fantasy version of himself say in a voice too low and husky to ever be his own, and the uppermost part of his mind decided he'd been watching too much porn to come up with a cheesy line like that.

But then the round yellow headlight twisted down as if to look at him, and the wheels turned, each in a different direction, independent of their axles, and the headlights flashed in giddy pleasure. Fantasy-Sam smirked and leaned his face against the door in front of him, continuing to finger the car.

"Good," he said in that same unlikely voice, before turning and giving the metal a slow, wide lick, feeling that the vehicle was warm.

On the bed, Sam's second hand joined his first, because he was finally, _finally_, getting somewhere.

In his head, the yellow camaro popped its door. An invitation. The boy stood up and, with the speed only possible in imagination, divested himself of his clothing, and slid into the car on all fours, naked as the day he was born, feeling the glorious leather on his skin, warm and soft and somehow _alive_. Oh, he wanted to lie himself flat on those seats and just press himself against them, rolling and writhing, and he wondered if they'd press back against him. Instead he allowed himself to sit in the driver's seat, pushing and rubbing his ass against the warm flesh of the car, one hand at his side and one between his legs, gripping the seat and massaging, working himself up into a sensory haze just as he hoped to do the same to the car.

The seat reclined, the back going down while the seat came up so that it could be as flat as a bed. He realised how visible he would be through the windows and he looked out, but all he could see was black, with maybe a city shimmering in the distance below them. Were they high up somewhere? Sam turned his face away from the unimportant outside world and wrapped his legs around the steering wheel, whorishly grinding his swollen and sensitive sex against it. The autobot symbol in the centre felt cool and he murmured a groan. He wondered if it counted as the transformer's face and he smirked, rubbing himself over it again, hoping it did. The car gave a powerful rev, and the vibrations _felt - so - good_!

Back in real life, Sam gave a surprised "Nn!" as his balls tightened unexpectedly. He was coming close.

In the fantasy, breathing heavily, one hand slipped from the seat/bed and bumped the handbrake. Inspired, or simply reminded, Sam twisted in the seat, releasing the steering wheel. He crouched over the side, taking the lever in his hands and giving it a long hot messy lick from base to tip, before sucking on the hard button on top. He felt the car shudder with a faint rumble, as if the autobot was having trouble keeping its current form under the assault of Sam's tongue.

Crouched as he was, with his knees under him, facing the middle of the car where the handbrake was, the boy knew his back end was exposed, and he was just waiting deliciously for the transformer to take advantage of the fact. As he continued to suck, kiss, lick and generally make a sensuous mess of the handbrake to the robot's delight, Sam twitched suddenly as he felt the heated metal of the seatbelt clasp begin to probe his vulnerability. He smiled for a moment, pleased, then tossed his head back and moaned, arching into it as the seatbelt did more than just probe.

Sam came into his hand as he bucked his hips off the bed, feeling muscle inside him spasm around a phantom penetration.

The fantasy disappeared like smoke, and all he was left with was hard reality and the hot sun shining gold onto his chest in his old room. Feeling suddenly empty and hateful, hating himself and hating that car, he relaxed against the mattress. He turned his head, so that he could just see a flash of yellow through green tree branches from the window.

Fuck that car, man. _Fuck. That. Car_. Fuck it for doing this to him, for turning him into this… this pervert, this deviant, this _freak_ - take your pick. He hated it, sitting there, so smug, so innocent in the driveway. Fuck it.

And he hated himself for not being stronger, for giving in _again_, for listening to his own weak excuses. For being such a disgusting, unnatural… He couldn't even think of the goddamn word. He was meant to be the victim here. Why did he keep dreaming of doing it again? Why did his body's memory keep returning to how it felt, the hard press of that long, rough lever pushing into him? The contrast between man and machine, between plastic and accommodating, clenching muscle?

What he wanted was interaction with the autobot. He couldn't take it just sitting out there, silent and immobile. He wanted the damn car to suffer, or _something_. Be humiliated the way he had been humiliated. Looking at it, it just looked like a car, and that was no good. Then it got _away _with it.

His come had gone cold and sticky, and he was soft again. He pulled his jeans and underwear back into place as best he could, and rolled off the bed. He closed his hand over his mess and went downstairs, straight outside, avoiding his parents if they even noticed. The sun was low and the temperature was beginning to drop, becoming cool for California.

The boy went out to the front, and stood looking at the car, knowing the car was looking at him too. Apart from the journey over from the college, during which he had driven, and forbidden the autobot from speaking or doing anything else that a car shouldn't do, he hadn't been near the vehicle. Bumblebee had been alone now for much longer than he ever had been sitting on the campus parking lot. But he had stayed right where Sam had left him, he hadn't attempted to talk to the boy at all. The human had no idea what the bot was thinking, and he didn't like it. If he was being honest with himself, he would have to have admitted that it was because he wanted to be on the alien's mind, exclusively, and causing him anguish.

Sam stood in the drive, at the furthest point from the car. He knew that Bee must be going crazy, wondering why he was there, what he was going to do, whether his ward had forgiven him or whether he was about to be punished in some way. Sam knew it must be torture for the bot to have to behave and pretend to be an inanimate object when he must be burning with curiosity and loneliness… and maybe desire for all Sam knew. He wanted to draw it out, so much so that he considered just walking away again after a minute or two of looking at the camaro and coming back another day. Fuck with its head. But he was so _angry_, he wanted to take _action_, and he wanted to make sitting in the drive even worse for the transformer if he could.

So after a minute or two, Sam moved forward, stalking slowly in front of the car. He could almost feel the force of Bee's attention tracking him, and it made him glad. He hoped the bot was desperate, but at the same time, being this close to it reminded him of all the good times, the best friend he had lost, and it made him a little sad. That mixed with his bitter vengefulness and made him feel nauseous.

He wanted something to say, some great, dramatic line, but he knew that if he opened his mouth, he would start to rant, and it would go on and on, and he would not get the effect he was looking for. He might give Bee _answers_, which was something he did not want to do. So instead, he said simply,

"You know what you did."

Once it was out of his mouth, he didn't like the sound of it, as if he was trying to justify his behaviour. So, trying to erase that moment of possible weakness, he strode forward abruptly, and squatted in front of the camaro, one hand on the bonnet. He seemed to feel a tingle from the metal that was once so beloved, and then his position reminded him of his fantasy, fuelling his anger.

"Open wide," he said, with more spite and vindictiveness than he'd ever said anything with in his life. Then he did what he'd gone there to do, he opened the loose fist he had formed with one hand and scraped his ejaculation off his hand onto the grill of the camaro. He felt like laughing. He could smell it, which meant the Bumblebee probably could as well, and the car would have to sit there in the drive wearing his come for as long as Sam chose to wait before washing it off.

"Raise your headlights," he said, leaning in to the car. His voice was quieter and conspiratory, and a small, outside part of him worried for his sanity. However, nothing happened. "Don't make me say it again, Bee, open those eyes."

Probably, the car had been wary of moving by itself in public, but there was no one on the street, and Sam was past caring. After a further moment's hesitation, the two headlights came slowly out of the bonnet. Sam smirked at his victory, and smeared what residue remained on his palm across the glass of the right socket.

"Good boy," he said. And now was time to go, to walk away and leave the bot like that, defiled. But the truth was the sun had soaked into the metal and made it warm to the touch, just like in his fantasy, and the autobot symbol on the front was glittering just in front of his face, so before he gave himself time to think twice about it, Sam ducked forward quickly and licked the smooth bonnet of his best friend and rapist.

The boy looked up into the empty space behind the windshield, the place that he usually sat in but which now felt possessed somehow, as if it was occupied by another consciousness that was looking out at him as he looked into it, bearing witness to his peculiar behaviour.

Suddenly uneasy, Sam ducked his eyes, feeling that he had somehow lost whatever pride or retribution he had gained. As the sun continued to sink away from the suburban street, he stood up and hurried back into the house, once more unable to look at that damned car.


End file.
